From the Latin by John Mason Neale
“Urit me Patriæ decor.”
    IT kindles all my soul,
My country’s loveliness! Those starry choirs
    That watch around the pole,
And the moon’s tender light, and heavenly fires
    Through golden halls that roll....

O Beauteous God! uncircumscribèd treasure
Of an eternal pleasure!
Thy throne is seated far
Above the highest star,
Where thou preparest a glorious place,
Within the brightness of thy face,
For every spirit
To inherit
That builds his...

There is a land of pure delight,
  Where saints immortal reign;
Infinite day excludes the night,
  And pleasures banish pain.

There everlasting spring abides,
  And never-withering flowers;
Death, like a narrow sea, divides
  This...

Poet: Isaac Watts

My soul, there is a country
  Afar beyond the stars,
Where stands a wingèd sentry,
  All skilful in the wars.

There, above noise and danger,
  Sweet peace sits crowned with smiles,
And One born in a manger
  Commands the beauteous files...

From “Paradise Lost,” Book III.
HAIL, holy Light, offspring of Heaven first-born!
Or of the Eternal coeternal beam
May I express thee unblamed? since God is light,
And never but in unapproachèd light
Dwelt from eternity, dwelt then in thee,
Bright...

Poet: John Milton

From “Paradise Lost,” Book VII.
  “LET there be light,” God said; and forthwith Light
Ethereal, first of things, quintessence pure,
Sprung from the deep; and from her native east
To journey through the aery gloom began,
Sphered in a radiant cloud, for yet...

Poet: John Milton

  SAY, from what golden quivers of the sky
      Do all thy wingèd arrows fly?
      Swiftness and Power by birth are thine:
From thy great sire they came, thy sire, the Word Divine.

  Thou in the Moon’s bright chariot, proud and gay,
      Dost thy...

From “Paradise Lost,” Book IV.
  NOW came still evening on, and twilight gray
Had in her sober livery all things clad;
Silence accompanied; for beast and bird,
They to their grassy couch, these to their nests,
Were slunk, all but the wakeful nightingale;...

Poet: John Milton

Sweetly breathing, vernal air,
That with kind warmth doth repair
Winter’s ruins; from whose breast
All the gums and spice of the East
Borrow their perfumes; whose eye
Gilds the morn, and clears the sky.
Whose dishevelled tresses shed
Pearls...

Poet: Thomas Carew

Now the bright morning star, day’s harbinger,
Comes dancing from the east, and leads with her
The flowery May, who from her green lap throws
The yellow cowslip and the pale primrose.
Hail, bounteous May! that doth inspire
Mirth and youth and warm desire;...

Poet: John Milton